Night's Music Reborn
by DarkestDreams
Summary: Christine realizes where her heart truly lies. Will Erik have his happy ending at last? (EC COMPLETE)
1. Apollo's Song

Okay, I am a newbie and this is my first phanfic, so please be gentle.

This is strictly an E/C fic, although not unfriendly to Raoul. This fic is what I wish in my heart happened after the end of the movie version (in other words, happy ending). This story takes place six months after where the movie leaves off. (Except please forget the entire black and white sequence in the graveyard at the end of the movie. We all know Christine should not have ended up with Raoul anyway.) Also, I envision the characters as they were in the movie, not as they were in Leroux.

None of the characters are my creation, of course. That credit belongs to Gaston Leroux for the novel version, and Andrew Lloyd Webber for the stage and movie version. I tried to stay as true to the movie characters as possible, with one exception: I believe that the kiss in the lair forever changed both Erik and Christine. Erik, as a result of that kiss gradually becomes more gentle, more human. Christine, in turn becomes stronger and more daring as a result of her encounters with the Phantom.

For some story background, Christine has been staying at the de Chagny mansion at Raoul's insistence since the Opera Populaire burned; however, a date has not yet been set for the wedding. (An evil cackle ensues...)

I appreciate your comments. Please, no flames. My confidence as a writer is still pretty fragile.

**1. Apollo's Song**

The air hung heavy and sweet in the midsummer twilight. The sun offered up its last glorious rays triumphantly in a burst of magenta and gold, then slipped gently from view, as the people of Paris ventured out into the cool evening after the heat of the afternoon. Christine Daae watched from her balcony as the velvet curtain of night descended gracefully upon the city. Her gaze traveled upward to the starlit sky, and she breathed deeply as if to take in the intoxicating darkness. It was ironic, she thought, that she had once dreaded night's coming, and now she awaited it like an impatient child. She stood, listening intently, but after several minutes heard nothing and sighed. She retreated at last from her disappointment back into the luxurious suite she had been given in the sweeping mansion that was the de Chagny residence.

Though she listened often, she could hear nothing in this place. Of course there were the everyday sounds of the household staff, of the horses in the stable, of carriage wheels, of polite reserved voices, and on nights like tonight, even something that might be called music. But the sounds that she heard here all sounded hollow and lifeless to her ears, like cheap imitations of something deeper and more powerful that could not be matched.

Christine stared out into the darkness beyond the balcony doors. She remembered a story her father had once told her of a beautiful girl who upon hearing tales of his enchanting voice had begged Apollo to sing for her. Apollo was taken with her beauty and wished to please her, but he warned her that once she had heard his voice, she would never be the same. Still, she had insisted until Apollo finally relented and sang to her a beautiful love song. When his song was finished, he returned forever to Mt.Olympus where she could not follow. The young girl waited endlessly in that same spot for him to return and sing to her once again, until she wasted away with despair and longing, finally turning to dust.

Is that to be my fate, Christine thought bitterly? She ran an impatient, restless hand through her unruly auburn curls. She felt that she would go mad from the silence, or rather from the absence of the particular sound she longed for. She was both blessed and cursed with memories of music as the gods had meant it to be - passionate, full of emotion and longing, hate and love, tragedy and triumph - a vessel through which to pour out the glory and agony of the human soul. Her hands flew to cover her ears in frustration. She seriously doubted that the gods had ever intended their sacred vessel to carry the mindless fluff of shallow sound she heard emitting from the ballroom below,

Christine dropped her hands to her lap almost guiltily and sighed heavily. She was being terribly unfair. After all, didn't the de Chagny family employ only the finest musicians money could procure for their galas such as this? She, a woman utterly untrained in any instrument other than the human voice should not deign to hold judgment. And yet, in her scant seventeen years, she felt as if she had known music in its purest, most unadulterated form, and that form was a man...She shook her head as if to clear it of those thoughts which inevitably followed - thoughts too painful to endure, and yet too bittersweet to let go. Ultimately, her effort to forget was in vain once again.

Christine glanced at the clock. She would be late, but somehow tonight, she did not care. Her lovely eyes were drawn to the gentle dance of the gossamer draperies, stirred by the touch of the beckoning breeze. Something about this warm, summer's night made her feel passionate and reckless. Suddenly, she cared nothing for the good opinion of Paris' finest downstairs. She stepped without hesitation to the grand four-poster bed and cast aside the demure white gown Raoul had chosen for her. She then reached far back into her armoire and reverently produced a resplendent red creation of silk. Christine deftly slipped the delicate garment around her slender, yet womanly frame. The color was deep red, like the darkest of red roses, and the skirt long and full. The bodice of the dress was well fitted and the neckline was seductively low, showing all of her cream shoulders and the rounded curves of her breasts. The dress draped just below the curve of her hips and swept to the side before tumbling dramatically in cascade of red silk to the floor. She carefully arranged her chocolate curls in a loose chignon at the back of her head and held it fast with a silver comb. As an afterthought, she took a single red rose from the vase near her vanity and tucked it amongst the delicate ringlets.

She surveyed herself delightedly in the mirror. The color, far deeper and bolder than she normally chose suited her mood somehow and the woman looking back at her from the glass was both the one she knew and yet a different creature entirely from the pale, thin, timid thing she had been when she had first come to the de Chagny residence six months before. Then, she had been a bedraggled and confused ex-opera star without a thing to her name except an unfairly compromised reputation. She had clung to Raoul, as a drowning woman to a life preserver. She had given up her career at his request, attended every god-forsaken society function in the city, and had nearly killed herself trying to earn the right to belong in his world - this world of titles, old money, grand parties, and meaningless pleasantries that she found herself so discontented in now.

She took one more glance in the mirror, and with a wicked grin, thought that tonight she would truly look the part of the scarlet woman they all thought her to be. She cared not, for this night she would throw caution to the wind. Let safety, security, and the propriety of good society be hanged! She could live this lie no longer!

Christine stepped back onto the balcony and breathed in the warm, sensuous fragrance of the Paris night. She listened once more. No, not yet, but something told her that tonight she would hear what she longed for. And as she passed Raoul pleasantly in the hall and heard his faint intake of breath at her appearance, she secretly hoped she would have the same effect on the true person she had dressed for that evening.


	2. Eyes That Could Not Lie

**2. Eyes that Could Not Lie**

The summer moonlight spilled its silver strands through the ancient grate and poured them out over the vast underground lake that filled the lower levels of the Opera Populaire. The silver beams made their wavering way, stealing quietly across its surface until they reached its opposite bank. Stealthily, the iridescent beams climbed up the bank until they at last touched the shoulder of the dark, brooding man who sat there with his back turned to the night. As Erik felt the whisper of moonlight on his skin, beckoning him, he turned his face to look upward through the rusted grate into the warm, starlit night above. There was something about this night, he thought to himself, something that stirred his blood and filled him with ill content. This night seemed like a living thing, calling him, enticing him, daring him to come and be part of its song. He listened intently, expecting to hear something, but heard nothing. Erik sighed and rose nimbly, pacing restlessly along the shore of the lake. His dark form in its relentless pacing coupled with the uncommon grace that always characterized his movement made him seem as some dark, exotic, jungle cat stalking the confines of its cage.

His steps slowed as he thought over the events of the past few months. For days after he had returned to his broken kingdom beneath the Opera Populaire, he had neither eaten nor slept, but had simply sat staring out across the lake, as if his eyes still followed the boat his soul had left him on. Then, gradually, he had begun to pick up the pieces of his once again shattered life and move on. After all, he thought bitterly, it was not the first time he had been rejected by someone whom he loved, and as always he had survived. He had decided long ago that it was by some cruel curse that he was bound to live on through every torturous ordeal that life handed him, surviving most without a scratch, only to face the next cruel blow and wretched suffering that the Fates would lay upon him. There were days when he cursed the heavens and begged to be removed from this world of pain and rejection. And then there were days like today, when the most perilous emotions of all clouded his haunted mind - hope and love.

He knelt before the water and just for a moment, allowed himself the dangerous luxury to think of her - her delicate frame; her auburn curls cascading down her back; her innocent brown eyes searching, pleading, begging, confused...those eyes that could not lie. His mind drifted back to the fateful night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. He remembered those eyes as they had sung to each other in front of all of Paris. There had been so many jumbled emotions in those eyes that night - fear, anger, hurt, not least of all...and yet there had been others playing there as well. Those few minutes were etched into his memory forever and as he replayed them in his mind he remembered what else he had seen there in her eyes that night - passion, longing, ...love? She might have begun that song with the intention of betraying him, but in the end, the honesty of her eyes had betrayed the most guarded secret of her own heart instead.

He straightened now as his mind began to race. Not only her eyes had betrayed her, he realized, but her voice as well - filled with a passion he had never heard from her in all the months under his tutelage, and her body - quivering and yet thrilling in his touch, rising to meet his harsh, demanding fingers. And then later, her kiss. Erik closed his eyes and tears shone on his dark lashes. That kiss that had been seared into his very soul. That wondrous kiss where anger and pity had somehow melted into absolute oneness as two broken souls touched and fused into one whole, complete being, for one fleeting moment.

And then she was gone.

Erik sighed. It didn't make any sense. She had to have felt in that kiss what he had felt. Deceive himself as he might have in the past, he had felt the wave of emotion that had passed over them, threatening to drown them both. In those moments, something irrevocable and utterly powerful had transpired between them. And when he remembered her eyes as she stepped away from him, he thought of the words she had sung of him on the rooftop months before:

_"Yet in those eyes, all the sadness of the world..._

_Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore..."_

Erik moved thoughtfully to the exact spot where he had stood as he had watched her sail away. As he stood there once again, lost in thought, he touched the ring he always wore on his little finger. The ring Christine had returned to him before she had left. And yet, he mused, it was not his ring. It had been, at one time, Raoul's engagement ring to Christine. He thought again as he twisted the ring absently round his knuckle. She had never worn this ring on her finger for Raoul, only around her neck. He remembered vividly when he had viciously removed it at the ball that night. He remembered the harsh, possessive words he had spoken, "Your chains belong to me!" So what did it mean, he asked himself, when he had released her of those chains, only to have them returned to him in the form of this ring? His mind swam along this dangerous new line of thought. And in the boat that night, even as she lay with her head on the young viscount's shoulder and sang her song of love, she had looked back - just once, and it had seemed for a moment, as if she were singing just for him once more.

Again he sighed, bending down by the water with his head in his hands. Or was he simply deceiving himself, as he had so many times before, into believing what he wanted so badly to be true? And yet, those eyes...While his own mind might deceive him, he knew Christine could not. After the years he had spent worshipping her from afar, memorizing her every word, every expression, he knew her to be incapable of deception. Anger yes, confusion yes, but never deception.

He straightened abruptly and paced once again, his brilliant mind racing in echo with his heart. For once logic and his love for Christine, unclouded by pride and anger, had led him to the conclusion he had so hoped he would come to - Christine did care for him. In his selfish arrogance, he had never dreamed that she would come to love him out of the goodness of her own sweet heart. Instead of trusting in Christine's goodness and in her willingness to offer her love freely, he had relied upon threats, seduction, and violence in a vain attempt to extract it by force. Now like a lightning bolt from the heavens he realized it had been there all along despite his deplorable behavior - pure and constant, but fragile and frightened. How must she have felt, loving a man who murdered and threatened, stamping about in fits of self-pity and rage, and then suddenly proclaiming his love for her? What choice did she have for her own sanity, but to choose the safety and innocence of the viscount's loving and selfless devotion. She had shown her love all along. Aside from his childish and manipulative pleas, he had yet to truly reveal to her his love.

Lord in heaven! He had not even revealed to her his name! He had asked, indeed demanded that this angel see and love the man beneath the monster, when she knew not even that man's name. He had shown her only the monster, and yet she loved the man. He dropped to his knees, his heart rent asunder with humility and thankfulness at the unbelievable and utterly undeserved gift she had given to him. He vowed then and there, to a God he had for so long believed was deaf to him, that he would spend every day for the rest of his life earning that which he had by some unimaginable grace been given. Maybe it was not too late to claim that gift. Erik's heart thumped like it would explode from his chest now, but he felt a lightness and a hope like never before.

As he rose slowly, his eyes were drawn upward once more to the beckoning night sky beyond the ancient grate. Tonight, on this warm, expectant summer evening, pregnant with promise, when the moonlight had called him out into the world, he would find her. He would tell her of his love with no threats and no manipulations. He would stand before her as a man, not as an angel or a demon, finally daring to be himself, unmasked before her and trusting her to accept him that way. He would even give her his name.

He took great care as he dressed that evening in his usual impeccable fashion. As he turned to leave, he paused before one of the few unbroken mirrors left in his residence, and hesitantly pulled aside its cover. He closed his eyes as the golden cover fell to the floor and then took a deep breath and opened them warily to survey his appearance. His eyes traveled uncertainly across the unfamiliar reflection in the glass. The man that stared hesitantly back at him, did not seem the monster he had dreaded he would see there for so long. Deep blue-gray eyes framed by long lashes; taught smooth skin stretched over a strong jaw; broad, square shoulders, narrow hips and long, lean legs. He gently replaced the mirror's cover in surprise. Aside from the right half of his face, he might even have been called a handsome man. Funny, he mused, he had always imagined that somehow his deformity had spread like a disease over his entire body, making him the hideous creature he saw in his head. Because he had never dared to look in a mirror, he had never known otherwise. Somehow the idea that someone might be able to truly love him, demons and all, had given him the courage to see himself for the first time.

Erik gently picked up a rose from his dressing table. He shook his head slightly, as a hint of a smile played on his face. She would make a man of the Phantom yet. And with that, he melted easily into the waiting night.


	3. As a Candle to the Sun

**3.) As a Candle to the Sun**

As Christine gracefully made her way down the grand staircase, her confidence wavered. What if he did not come? She pretended not to notice the whispers of the Paris socialites as she entered, and ignored completely the admiring glances of the gentlemen present. Her dark eyes scanned the room quickly, her impatience barely concealed. She only wished to feel one man's admiring eyes upon her this night, and those eyes she knew she would recognize in an instant. The eyes she longed to see were a haunting blue-gray and would be filled with adoration and sadness.

She scolded herself inwardly for her childish impatience. Of course he would not be here making small talk amongst the other guests. He was a wanted man. The thought of him being captured should have struck fear in her heart, and yet a part of her still believed he could never be captured - his genius and power too great to be thwarted by normal men. No, she need only wait she assured herself. He would find her here. He, who knew her better than she knew herself. They were inexplicably bound somehow, in tune to each other in a way she could never fully explain. He would sense somehow that she had chosen him, once and for all, and would come to claim at last that which had always been his. The thought sent a delicious shiver through her body.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was instantly accosted by a throng of hopeful young men and a gaggle of elegantly dressed old busybodies asking her shrewdly when she and the viscount would be formally announcing their engagement. When she had first arrived at the de Chagny mansion, Christine would have withered under their scrutiny, stammering a response then quickly excusing herself to hide herself behind Raoul's familiar and reassuring arm. But she had grown stronger over these past months, gradually gathering the strength she would need to free herself from this gilded prison and enter a new life that she knew would be the most challenging, dangerous, passionate, and rewarding experience she had ever known. Now, she was the very image of charm and self assurance, as she expertly extricated herself from the unwanted attention.

As she gratefully accepted the champagne flute offered to her by one of the servers, she noticed Raoul across the room. Handsome and charming as ever, he stood with a group of important looking gentlemen talking the usual talk of business and politics. She felt an undeniable pang of guilt as he turned, and upon catching her gaze offered a gentle smile. She did love Raoul, she thought, running her finger around the rim of her glass, but it was a different kind of love. It was a sweet, deep fondness for a man, who outside of his recent romantic interest in her, had always been as a beloved brother. At first, in the wake of the Phantom's vengeful madness, she had truly believed that her fondness for Raoul could deepen and become the kind of love that he wished for it to be. He was obviously the safe choice - loving and devoted, handsome and wealthy, a man of polite society and good manners. And yet, long before Raoul had returned to her life, a different feeling for another had been building to a terrifying crescendo within her heart.

A feeling that was both exquisitely gentle and yet recklessly passionate, fearfully dark and yet shining with a glory and purity she could never have imagined. And that feeling had been utterly frightening in its intensity, so much so that she in her youth and inexperience had mistook it for something evil, when she now knew it to be the deepest kind of soulful union - a kind of emotion to which all others paled in comparison, like the glow of a candle to the radiance of the Sun.

Raoul would come to understand, she thought as she watched him from across the room. Part of him, she was sure, already knew she was lost to him. There was a sadness in his eyes now when he looked at her, a wistfulness. She had no doubt he would let her go if she asked it, for he would deny her nothing. And Raoul would recover, of this she was certain. He had his family, his friends. There would be other women who would spark his interest in time. For the man whom she awaited, there would be no other, just as there could be no other for her. After all, she thought with a smile, what glow of a candle could compare to the radiance of the Sun?


	4. Angels and Demons

**4.) Angels and Demons**

Unbeknownst to all inside, a lone rider now approached the moonlit manor. The figure dismounted with an uncommon fluid grace, and made not a sound as he led his dark animal toward the shadowy gardens behind the sprawling stone. He left the horse contentedly munching the fine green grass, along with more than a few rosebuds from the obviously expensive and meticulously cared for bushes. The man in the shadows could not contain a wicked smirk at the thought as he set about finding his way to the house unnoticed. It proved easier than he had hoped, as the hour was late and a great many glasses of champagne had been drunk by those inside. He stepped into the shadow of an enormous vase filled with exotic flowers, and from his position was easily able to see through the magnificent French doors of the ballroom. Fortunately, the doors were opened wide to the warm summer night, spilling golden light and music out into the grounds from within.

At first he could not see her, then suddenly, he caught a flash of deepest rose-red silk and auburn curls. As she turned to where he could see her fully, he felt his breath catch in his chest. He had never seen her as lovely as this night. Her eyes were bright and held a sparkle of barely contained excitement. The color was high in her cheeks, and the rich shade of the ravishing red dress set off her coloring to creamy perfection. With her hair knotted loosely at the back of her head, one or two auburn curls had escaped their comb and trailed down the elegant curve of her neck to rest on her lovely bare shoulders. It was all he could do in that moment not to simply drop to his knees and cry for the sight of her, all he could do to restrain himself from crawling to her feet and begging her to be his and his alone. It took him a moment to regain his composure and remind himself that such a sight would hardly be likely to win the heart of a lady fair such as the one before him. All at once, the idea to come here without invitation and hide amongst the greenery in the hopes that she would leave all of this splendor to ride away with him - the man with half a face, and live contentedly in a sewer seemed laughable.

He stood there for many moments, debating his choices uncertainly. Stay and risk humiliation, rejection, and even death for the tiniest chance at happiness, or return to the safety of his prison alone. Although the first choice was certainly the more dangerous, at the moment it seemed that even death was preferable to being forced somehow to tear his eyes away from the sight of her. No, come hell or high water, he would have to speak with her. To offer her his heart, such as it was, and know her heart once and for all.

As Christine stood listening with a polite half-ear to the elderly baroness before her, she felt a warm breath of summer's air caress her back. Barely able to contain her excitement, she turned toward the open French doors leading out into the garden and felt a surge of electricity pass through her veins, as if her blood itself leapt at the mere sense of his presence. He was here! Christine wanted to throw herself through the doors and into his awaiting arms, but reason and caution stilled her. If she did, his presence would be known to all, and no matter his brilliance, he would be in danger. That she could not bear. But she had to let him know of her decision. She had rejected him once, and she knew that he would be uncertain of her feelings now. She glanced desperately around the room. What could she do? She could not leave without others seeing.

Suddenly, she knew. Music was the language through which they truly knew and understood each other, the kingdom in which he ruled and she served, and others were not welcome. Gathering her courage, she approached the musicians and summoning all her charm implored them to accompany her so that she could entertain their guests with a song. The group of young musicians, eager to please her, readily agreed to her request and began to prepare. Oh God, this was taking too long, Christine thought. What if he lost hope and left her there? Her hands shook as she imagined the thought. She silently pleaded with the musicians to hurry.

Meanwhile, Erik was watching her curiously. What on earth was she doing? He had felt for a fleeting moment that she had sensed him there. Would she betray him, he wondered? Alert the authorities to his presence there? But instead, at the moment, she seemed to be chatting merrily with the musicians in the near corner of the room. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps she had not sensed him there at all. He shifted his weight uneasily. He had been wrong to come. She seemed so happy here. What right did he have to ask her to share the wretched life he had been given? He shook his dark head. It was wrong to ask this scarlet angel to give up the glories of this luxurious heaven for the love of a demon. He turned, fully intending to walk away and leave her forever in peace.


	5. Night's Music Reborn

**5.) Night's Music Reborn**

Christine could bear to wait no longer. She began to sing without accompaniment. Her voice was as clear and pure as ever, with her beloved teacher so near, and there was a richness and longing to it that could leave no question of her sincerity. As the man in the shadows turned, determined to give her up once and for all, the riveting sound of an angel's voice met his highly attuned ears, stopping him in his tracks. He was still helpless to resist that voice, just as she had once been helpless to resist his own. He stepped back to where he had been standing only a moment before and closed his eyes, turning his face to the sound, like a flower turning its face to the sunlight.

At first he felt only the magic of her voice like a warm salve healing his wounded soul, and he stood drinking in the sound like a man dying of thirst for it. All at once, he began to recognize the melody, hear the words. As understanding dawned, he stood disbelieving. The silver threads of her voice suddenly seemed directed straight to him as if they were the only two people in the world at that moment.

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams! _

_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before!_

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar,_

_And you'll live as you never lived before..."_

His song. The song that only she had ever heard. The song that he had sung once before begging her to share in his world. Only now, the roles seemed reversed. Unless his ears and mind deceived him, it was now her begging to return to that world, to him. He stood dumbstruck, rooted to the spot, listening as if his very life depended upon it.

"_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world!_

_Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before._

_Let your soul take you where you long to be!_

_Only then, can you belong to me..."_

The crowd inside had stilled. No one spoke, nor moved. All eyes rested on the tiny soprano on stage, singing such a hauntingly beautiful song with such passion and desperation in a voice sent from heaven. No one dared to break her spell. No one desired to. Only one man inside the room knew the origin of that haunting song. And one man outside it. Both, stood riveted now with tears streaming down their cheeks.

"_Floating, foaming, sweet intoxication..._

_Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation..._

_Let the dream begin,_

_Let your darker side give in_

_to the power of the music that you write – _

_the power of the music of the night..._

She was singing to him. He knew it now. This was her decision! He tore himself away from the intoxicating sound of her voice and disappeared into the night once again.

Inside, Christine was losing hope. She had been so sure that when he heard her sing his song, to him, he would understand, he would come, all would be made right. She had put her heart and soul into his song, and the effort had taken its toll. She sank to her knees in exhaustion and despair, clouds of red silk spilling around her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, as she sang in quiet desperation, her voice now sounding small and helpless:

"_You alone can make my song take flight – _

_Please help me make the music of the night.."_

The last words came out as a plea, and she fell forward sobbing. Her agony was to be short-lived, however, for suddenly she heard the curious sound of approaching hoof beats. She lifted her tear-stained face wretchedly, and despite herself, allowed her brown eyes to travel with a tiny glimmer of hope to the French doors. The crowd around her let out a collective gasp and backed to the far corners of the room as a magnificent black stallion leapt up the stairs from the garden and plunged through the open doors right into the elegant ball room, coming to an abrupt halt just before Christine. Even more surprising to the crowd was the rider, dressed elegantly in black from head to toe, and masked, but perhaps most surprising of all, wearing a look of hardly contained joy and obvious love as he gazed softly at the broken figure on the floor before him. Slowly, her face turned up to him, as if afraid he might not be real, then a breathtaking smile broke across her lovely face and she stood. He held out his hand to her, and as she took it, both closed their eyes with a look of utter contentment upon their faces, as if in that simple touch, both had been made whole. It was evident to all who saw, including the young viscount watching broken-heartedly from the corner, that these two people could never be complete without one another.

As the elegant figure in black swung her easily onto the back of the beautiful animal, Christine whispered playfully into his ear, "You, sir are late!" With his crooked, roguish, half smile, he answered back, "I do apologize, my dear, but you know how I love to make an entrance." With that, he turned the stallion in one deft motion and all three disappeared into the awaiting night, in a swirl of ebony and scarlet.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Christine surveyed the scene around her with contentment - unconcealed love and happiness welling in her enormous brown eyes, which were as lovely as ever. There were tiny lines around those eyes now, but the lines were simply the unmistakable markers of time and many smiles. She watched her family with one of those smiles playing on her lips now. Her family...There had been a time when she could never have dreamed she would ever live to see a scene such as the one before her. In the soft light of the setting sun, on the grassy lawn of a comfortable manor, twin girls, both with auburn curls and gray-blue eyes were dancing. Their father, a handsome and distinguished looking gentlemen with the same gray-blue eyes, was singing for them a song of fairy princesses, castles, and knights on horseback. Her smile deepened as she listened to the rich, melodious voice she loved so much and remembered their own story – it too had a castle, and a fairy princess, and of course, a knight on horseback. He caught her gaze, and returned her smile. She marveled at him still. This man who had once been so lost, so tortured, now was the very image of a loving father and husband. There was a gentleness to his spirit and a depth to his love that anyone who had known him before would never have believed possible. His world revolved around his family, around her. And the face that had once haunted all of Paris, now marked with the same laugh lines she herself wore, radiated love, joy, and finally peace. So much love, she shook her head, neither of them could have dreamt their story could ever turn out like this.

Suddenly, their quiet reverie was interrupted as a curly-haired young boy with the familiar gray-blue eyes burst onto the lawn begging his father to come and hear him play his latest song on the violin. "Erik William, please remember your manners, "she scolded, but without any real anger in her voice. "I am sorry mother," he hung his tousled head, "But I have something I would like to play for you as well." His face brightened, "You and the twins can sing, and father can accompany us on the piano." His crooked grin was familiar and irresistible, like the one that his father had stolen her heart with so long ago. He was so much like his father in so many ways – even now, he was composer, performer, conductor. All of her children had been gifted by the Angel of Music. Which was indeed fitting, she mused, as that angel was their father.

She smiled again. She reached for Erik's hand and laid her head on his strong shoulder as they walked up the shadowy lawn to the house. He pressed his lips to her forehead and covered her hand with his own. Arm in arm they walked, as the waves of the sea played their joyful music from the shoreline below the house. So much love, so much music. All was as it was meant to be at last.

**Notes to the Reader:**

Okay, yes, it is sappily romantic, perhaps naive and oversimplified, but this is my fantasy, and wouldn't the vast majority of us have felt so much better if it had ended like this? I, of course, did not write the italicized lyrics in the final chapter, or in any other chapter. Those are the inspired work of Mr. Charles Hart. I did make one or two tiny changes to have them fit the context of the story. The ideas for the story are of course based primarily on the ALW version from the 2004 movie. Is there anyone else out there who wishes this is how it would have ended?

Also, as one final note, you will notice in the epilogue that there is no mention of Erik's mask. In fact, I describe him there as a handsome man. In my mind, the mask is still present, but it is not mentioned because it no longer defines him. He is Erik now, not the phantom, and through Christine's love, his inner beauty is now what his family sees, not the mask.


End file.
